Hard Love
by star.laced.eyes
Summary: ON HIATUS - Will a late night conversation with a beautiful stranger lead Spencer Reid to question the life he thought he had figured out? Would the answers even matter if he never sees her again? What if she disappears with his heart? R
1. May I Help You

Spencer Reid exited the elevator and slowly made his way to his fifth-floor apartment after a particularly difficult day of work. He wanted nothing than quiet, which was becoming increasingly difficult to find with his new neighbor across the hall. Out of all the apartment buildings available in the area, she not only had to select his apartment building as her new place of residence, but she had to move into the apartment directly across from him.

It didn't help much the she was, possibly, the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Young, tanned, and blonde, she looked like a Barbie doll or the epitome of the stereotypical sorority girl. So along with the near constant mix of pop dance tracks and hip-hop beats, a string of suitors of the frat boy persuasion and her entourage of equally beautiful "sisters" rotated through her apartment at all times of the night.

She wasn't all-bad, she was open and friendly, but she was the kind of woman that looked through him rather at him, which she did when he asked her to quiet things down. She apparently didn't get the message.

However, tonight was different. The floor was silent and empty. He turned the corner, keys readily in hand to unlock the door, and was surprised to see someone quietly sitting on the floor against the wall opposite the door of his apartment.

"Excuse me?" he asked sharply. "May I help you?"

He instantly regretted his sharpness as his eyes met the face of the lounging young woman. To say she was beautiful would be an understatement. Her auburn hair contrasted beautifully against her milky white skin and her piercing eyes were a beautiful shade of blue. An amused smile graced her full rosy lips sending waves of relief through him that she wasn't offended by his off manner.

"No, I don't think so," she calmly replied. "I'm just waiting for Madison," his new neighbor, "to get here. She was supposed to put out the hide-a-key, but…obviously…she didn't."

Oh…I'm sorry. Do you know when she'll get here?

The young woman shook her head in response. Again, she gave him an amused smile.

Spencer didn't know how he should respond to this situation. He studied the young woman on the floor. She was wearing an olive green military style jacket and well-worn denim jeans. Besides her bags that he imagined held her cloths and other necessities, on one side of her she had a guitar in an old case with a collection of stickers of various artists randomly plastered on the outside and what looked like a sketchbook or writing pad on the other. He couldn't just invite her inside; she was a complete stranger that he knew nothing about. However, he didn't want to just leave her out there. He knew that she would most likely be safe, but how safe was most likely? He must have stood there debating himself longer than he thought because he was roused from his thoughts by her voice.

"Well, goodnight then, and thank you for asking."

"Asking what?" he asked.

"If I needed any help," she promptly replied.

"Oh yeah, you're welcome. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

It wasn't until after he was inside his apartment door locked and looking at her through the peephole that he realized that he never asked her name.

She was digging through one of her bags with her sketchpad open. He watched as she began scribbling something, writing or drawing, he wasn't sure which.

He stepped away from the door and walked down the hall to his cramped bedroom to change out of his suit, to try to exit his work world of torture, death, pain and step into a world of letters, books, and a lumpy sofa to try to find some comfort.

Spencer tried to avoid looking in the mirror while dressing, but his gaunt face couldn't escape his attention. He looked worse than sick; he looked dead – too thin, dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, a sallow tinge to his skin. Certainly, there was nothing attractive about him to catch the female eye, especially one as beautiful as the one outside his front door. 'Guys like Morgan have it so easy' he mused to himself. 'All Morgan has to do is walk in a room and automatically half the women begin to buzz with interest…'

An unexpected knock on the door roused him from his jealousies.


	2. Spencer

**Thank you to all who read my first chapter. This is the first fanfic I've published and my first attempt at writing a story from beginning to end. It might start slow, but it will get better.**

**A special thanks to TheCupcakeFantasy and Sue1313 for their reviews and to all whom favorited and alerted my story. Your support means a lot.**

**Disclaimer remains the same. FYI I'll be playing with some different points of view. **

_Spencer POV_

I looked out the peephole and saw her standing there, looking around and slightly rocking up and down the balls of her feet. I startled her as I opened the door, but she quickly recovered and flashed me a dazzling smile that spurred my stomach into summersaults that froze when we made eye contact.

"Hi." She seemed nervous now, apparently uncomfortable from asking for something from a stranger.

"Hi." I tried to put her at ease but my voice squeaked out at a prepubescent pitch. 'Good one, Reid. She'll definitely be interested now.' I stood there like an idiot with a blush creeping up my cheeks just waiting for her to laugh.

But she didn't. Her smile twitched a bit, which would have been imperceptible to someone who didn't study human behavior for a living.

"There is, um, actually something you could do for me…" She paused to make sure I was listening.

"Yeah, okay," I said to show that I was listening, though not with my full attention. Her beauty was distracting. She had shed her jacket and left it on the floor where she had been sitting. She was wearing a gray knitted sweatshirt off one shoulder and blue jeans with holes in them. She was barefoot and had surprisingly cute feet. He was finally able to long her hair was; it flowed down to her waist in soft, loose waves.

"In case Mads doesn't come home tonight or I'm not here when she does….Will you give this to her?" She handed me a folded piece of paper. I took it without looking at it.

"Yeah, of course, I can do that."

"Thank you, Dr. Reid." She flashed me another smile leaving me so dazed that it was only back inside my apartment that she had said my name.

Again, I looked out at her through the peephole in my door. She was sitting down in her previous spot with her jacket around her shoulders listening to music. Her eyes were closed, and she slightly swayed to the beat, her right foot tapping on the floor.

'She definitely isn't listening to classical,' I thought. I decided against going out and talking to her again. It wasn't shocking that she my name. My neighbor must have told her, and I didn't want to interrupt her; she looked like she was enjoying her music too much.

I walked to table the nearest to my door where I usually kept my keys and other important things, besides my gun and badge, to grab on my way out the door. I placed the note there, thinking I would most likely remember to give it to her the next time I saw her. The paper was now crumpled from being in my hand and had black smudges all over it. I squinted and tried to make out them out; they weren't words but shapes and fingerprints. I looked at my hand smeared in black. Was it ink? It didn't look like it. Curiosity got the best of me, and I decided to open the note rationalizing that she wouldn't have a problem with me reading it since she gave it to me.

I opened up the note. A basic message was inside signed only with the initial 'A,' but it was what was on the back that got my attention.

I couldn't believe my eyes. They looked so real, like photographs, but they were incomplete charcoal sketches. One was of my neighbor, others were people I didn't know; some I recognized as Madison's friends, but the others didn't I recognize at all. I couldn't understand she could just use it as scrap paper only to be thrown away.


	3. Aislin

**Disclaimer: See chapter one. It's still the same.**

**I know my chapters are short. This one will be short, also. It's just how I divided the chapters. I think I know where I want to go with this, but I'm not exactly **

_Aislin (Ash-lynne) POV_

I was listening to my favorite album, 'Fevers & Mirrors' by Bright Eyes when I was startled by a sudden sound. I looked up to see Dr. Reid in his doorway. He was beautiful in a tortured kind of way. He looked too young to be a doctor, but he also looked way too young to look so dead inside. He made his toward me, and I took out my ear buds. He was holding my unfolded note in this hand art side up.

"Did you draw these?" He looked at me with earnest desire on his face. I hated any attention I got from my art. I usually signed it with a false name. Unlike my music, it was a side of me that I was uncomfortable sharing with the world except for my safest, closet friends, and I only had a few of them. Embarrassed by his inquiry, all I could do was nod.

"They're amazing," he said sincerely. His honesty surprised me but relaxed me at the same time. "How could you just throw them away?"

I shrugged. "Those were…rough drafts…I guess." With what looked like disbelief on his face, he looked again at the paper in his hands. "I have the finished ones in here," I said as I kicked at my sketchbook. I picked it up, put it in my lap, and moved my guitar so he could have a place to sit down. "You can sit here, Dr. Reid," I said. His face lit up when I said that. He slowly sat down next me. Something about him that made me feel safe opening up to him. I didn't know what it was. I turned to look at him, and he gave me a nervous but beautiful smile. As I smiled back I had the feeling that he didn't get to smile that often.

"Spencer. My first name is Spencer. You don't have to call me 'doctor'…I mean unless you want to…." His rambling was cute. I could tell he was shy. I could understand that, I was shy too, maybe not as much anymore, not with all I revealed onstage. You can't open yourself open to world until you were naked emotionally and not lose some shyness.

I reached my hand over to shake his. "Aislin with the Irish spelling because I like to be difficult." He chuckled a little at that.

I handed him my book and watched he thumbed through. "They're nice. I don't know much about art though."

"What's to know?" I shrugged. "I just draw."

He continued to admire my art. He looked at each drawing as though he was studying it, and for all I knew he could have been. It made me nervous, so I tried to engage him in conversation.

"Are you from around here?" I asked.

"No, I'm originally from Las Vegas. I came out here to go into the FBI. You?" He paused to look at me while I answered.

"I'm from California."

"What are you doing in Virginia?

"Just passing through. What do you do in FBI?"

"I work in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We study human behavior to profile criminals and their victims to help local law enforcement agencies apprehend them with as little loss in human life as possible."

"You work in the BAU?" He seemed puzzled by my response.

"Yeah," he said. "You've heard it?"

"Yeah. So you've been psychoanalyzing me this entire time."

"That wasn't a question."

"No, it wasn't."

"Then I don't have to answer," he pointed out.

"I guess not," I admitted. I desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, but I didn't want to give him anything more for his profile.

"What if I have been?"

"What? Psychoanalyzing me?"

"Yes."

"It depends," I shrugged.

"Depends on what?"

"On whether you have a profile of me." I kidded.

"What if I do?" he kidded back.

"I might have to…amend it."

"How would do that?"

I shrugged playfully and then leaned over and began to flip to the middle of the sketchpad still in his lap. I could feel him tense up from our bodies coming into contact.


End file.
